


dream maker, you heart breaker

by overflow



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Paranoia, Sick Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 06:00:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14562426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overflow/pseuds/overflow
Summary: Armie left his wife for him.  He needs to be good, now.  Be sweet, be easy, be fun.  He can’t be a bother.Otherwise, Armie will eventually regret this whole goddamn thing, if he doesn’t already.~ written for the CMBYN ten minute challenge ~





	dream maker, you heart breaker

“Timmy?”

Timothée tenses up on his spot on the floor.He lies, eyes closed, body listless, against the white tile of the bathroom, curled unceremoniously around the toilet, which is currently filled with vomit.The smell is pungent and vile, filling the still air in the too-hot room.

He knew this was coming.He had felt strange all day.He only hoped that it wouldn’t wake Armie.

“Timmy, what happened?” Armie asks.Timothée’s eyes are closed, and his back is to Armie, but he can estimate from the sound of his voice that Armie is still standing in the doorway.

“I’m fine, go back to sleep.”

“You’re sick…”

Timothée says nothing.

A sigh.Footsteps.A hand in his sweet-drenched hair.

“I’m really fine,” Timothée insists, but his statement is undermined when his stomach lurches and he jolts back up to make sure all the vomit lands in the toilet.

Wouldn’t want to make a mess.Not in Armie’s bathroom.Not at Armie’s house.Not where he is a visitor, a temporary fixture, an experiment, even.Just a penis and a warm body for Armie to figure things out on until he leaves.

Armie rubs Timothée’s back as he vomits.“It’s okay, get it all out,” he murmurs.

When Timothée is done, he slumps forward, resting his head against the toilet. _No eye-contact,_ he reminds himself, _hide your face when you’re like this, pale and sweaty and ugly._

“How long have you been throwing up?”

“A few hours.”

“Why didn’t you come get me?”  
“Didn’t wanna bother you.”

And he doesn’t.Not when Armie has left his fucking wife for him, not when Armie’s fucked up his life for him.He needs to be good, now.Needs to be sweet, be easy, be fun.He can’t be a bother.

Otherwise, Armie will eventually regret this whole goddamn thing, if he doesn’t already.

“You’re really sick, though,” Armie says, reaching over to flush the toilet.Timothée watches as it swirls beneath his face, all of his bile disappearing into nowhere.

“I’m fine, really.Go back to bed, don’t let me bother you.”

“You’re not—Jesus, Timmy, you’re not bothering me.”He pulls Timothée up by his hair, looks straight into his eyes for a moment, and presses a hand against his forehead.“God, you’re burning up.How long have you been feeling bad?”

Timothée shrugs, looking away.“Since yesterday morning, I guess.”

“You need to tell me these things,” Armie says, wrapping his arms around Timothée.

Timothée hunches forward so his face is buried in Armie’s shoulder.He’s too exhausted to hug him back.“Didn’t think you’d—“ he stops himself, not wanting to force Armie to comfort him in this way, too.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Armie rubs his back.“How come you never let me take care of you?You know I always want to.”

Timothée squeezes his eyes shut, grateful that Armie can’t see his face.“You’ll get sick of it.Of me.”

“Never.”

They sit like that for a while, Timothée trembling in Armie’s arms, until enough time has passed that they both think that Timothée is done vomiting.Then, Armie scoops one arm under Timothée’s knees, one arm under his shoulders, and carries him to the bed.

He places the back of his hand next to Timothée’s jaw,his cool knuckles brushing against his neck.He stays like that until Timothée falls asleep.


End file.
